Dark Side of Supernatural
by RealGuitarHero93
Summary: i decided one day during class to write a bunch of little blurbs all about dean. and all of them named after Pink Floyd songs. hopefully it was a good idea. reviews are appreciated.
1. Money

_Money can't buy love. _

Whoever said that BS didn't know about hookers.

_Money can't buy happiness._

Did this guy ever indulge in the joyous wonders of cheeseburgers, pie, cars, strip clubs?

Money equaled power and Dean did whatever he could to increase his dwindling supply. Hustling became his major; pool, card games, darts, fights. Anywhere there was gambling, bets, beer, Dean's face was in the crowd.

He had found ways to avoid getting his ass kicked. Found ways to vanish before his victims knew what hit them. Growing up, he never had much; a brother, a dad, a car, some sort of shelter. Just the basics.

At an early age, he realized just how deprived he was and quickly taught himself the ropes. He experimented on his classmates; marbles, cards, he even placed bets on neighborhood kickball games. Slowly, he got what he wanted;

Cold

Hard

Cash.

And living the way he did, the bright green paper WAS happiness, WAS love, WAS his only companion when Sam and him began to drift apart.

Money, it WAS a crime, but Dean paid no attention and grabbed as much as he could get his hands on.

_Think I'll buy me a football team._

**END.**


	2. Careful With That Axe, Eugene

He skimmed his finger tentatively over the silver blade, savoring the minute "shing" the action created. Just one quick swipe and it would all be over. It didn't even require that much thought. He could do it blindfolded; after all, it would make doing it so much easier.

He turned the knife over and over in his hand, hypnotized by the slight shimmer reflecting off the blade. Wasn't like he'd be missed. He didn't matter, to anyone. Heaven only wanted him around as an angel condom for Michael, and he wouldn't end up surviving that experience anyway. Sam was gone. Completely wiped off the map and apparently he didn't care enough to let Dean know he was still in existence. His baby brother was only a memory. Bobby; poor Bobby. He had slipped into a deep dark depression; nothing could pull him out of such a thick sinister funk, except the bullet. The one fatal bullet to the side of the old man's head. The one that collided destructively with his skull finger-painted with his brains on the wall. If only Dean were brave enough to do the same.

"Dean."

A whispered voice yanked him from his thoughts.

"Please put the knife down, Dean."

Castiel. Poor, innocent, angel bastard Castiel. He didn't know what it was like. He never could understand completely. He never truly cared.

Dean was ultimately surprised as his face grew wet and cold, salt water seeping in through the corners of his parted lips.

No matter what he did, he couldn't refuse Castiel. No matter how hard he tried to deny it, Cas _did_ care.

And Dean was _damn grateful_ he did.

**END.**


	3. Young Lust

His breath caught in his throat and his abdominal muscles tightened almost instantly. The way her warm, soft body moved above him; writhing in a rhythm that sucked out all his sense of control. His body tensed and the pressure building up in his pelvis threatened to cause his groin to explode. He closed his eyes and let his hands roam along her wide expanse of inhumanly soft skin. Hard to believe that just a short time earlier, she was refilling his coffee mug, her wide grey-green eyes sparkling as she smiled at him. Flowing locks of never-ending auburn hair swirled around him, encircling him, and he loses it. Rough moans escape him, grinding against his throat like heavy duty sandpaper. He felt her as she threw he head back in pure rapture, her gasps loud and prominent. But, somehow, Dean couldn't enjoy himself, couldn't ride out the waves of intense pleasure like she did; savoring every moment, each sensation. His mind kept drifting, altering reality. Her soft curves shifted into rough angles of solid muscle and callused skin. Her long dark hair, shrinking into her skull, the shade becoming a rich chocolate brown. Her lust clouded grey-green eyes with the heavily dilated pupils, morphed to a breath-taking, hypnotizing blue. No matter what he did, his mind's eye changed. Forcing him to face the truth.

He panted heavily as his body started to relax, as the solid form towering over him slowed their movements.

"Dean," his throaty whispers taunted.

The angel bent and placed his dry plump mouth over Dean's.

"Cas," he breathed.

"Cas."

**END.**


	4. Comfortably Numb

At first, he thought he was dead. Blacked out, unconscious, and left his body peacefully. His last breath seemed to take forever.

Inhale……….

Exhale...and that was it. No more cheeseburgers, no more pie, no more sex and he's miss _that_ the most. But even as the universe swirled and revolved around him, he was still aware.

Of the pain, the blood, the death that seemed to follow him like a stray rain cloud. There was no escaping. He was destined to live this life and he couldn't hide from destiny.

When he finally came to, he wished he _was_ dead. The hit he had taken just didn't cut it, and he knew the angel bastards had probably altered the effect of the drug, making it harmless.

"Damnit," he wheezed his mouth bone dry and metallic tasting.

He knew he shouldn't be playing with fire like this; experimenting with dangerous hallucinogens when you're supposed to be leading an army against the Devil, was not the best of ideas. But Dean didn't care. He'd already lost the last of his family. Sammy stabbed to death just outside of Omaha, and Bobby shot with a 50 caliber rifle not long after. What did he have left to live for? Humanity?

Ha. That was fucking _rich._

He was just conscious enough to hear the thick flutter of wings, the heavy echo of silence following the celestial being's entrance. Dean found it difficult to keep his eyes opened and focused.

_This is it, _he thought, I'm_ dying. For __real._

But he wasn't dying, another false alarm. The angel laid a hand on Dean's shoulder and the hunter could practically taste the disappointment.

"You don't have to say anything," Dean rasped, his breaths short and shallow.

"Just leave me alone, Cas."

Dean felt the buildup of tears behind his eyes.

"Let me die already."

Dean knew just exactly what buttons to push to get the rebel angel to sympathize; finally understand and leave him alone to rot like he deserved. Eventually, Castiel would give in, leaving wordlessly, while Dean stared at a dark wall, so far gone even the best GPS money could buy couldn't lead him back.

"No, Dean."

Castiel's whispered response startled Dean.

_No? No. What the __hell__ do you mean "No"?!_

Dean blinked repeatedly, trying desperately to focus on Castiel's blurry face.

"I can't let you do this to yourself," the angel whispered, a hint of despair in his tone, his body language. Dean rolled his eyes and a heavy bout of blackness swallowed him.

The last thing Dean sees consciously is Castiel's sad blue eyes, and dying really doesn't seem that bad.

**END.**


	5. Wish You Were Here

Dean clutched at himself as the pain intensified. He found it difficult to catch his breath as the sharpness passed through his chest, like shards of glass were dancing around his heart. Hot tears sprung up in his eyes, immediately blurring his vision. The dark motel room swirled around him in a mass of blacks and grays.

Whenever he was gone, the pains became unbearable, ripping through his ribs, his heart, his lungs. It was like someone was hacking a huge gaping hole right in the middle of his weakening body. He _needed_ him. He was his only cure, his hope, his _life._

A searing hot iron poker tore his ribs apart and he screamed heavily.

"CASTIEL!"

He grimaced as his tears spilled over and dampened his cheeks.

"AAAARRRGGHHH!!!

PLEASE! CAS!"

A part of him figured that it was all in his head, a physical effect of his perpetual fear of being alone, but he didn't want to face the fact that he was basically torturing himself. He had to learn how to deal.

_Without _him. Without _anyone._

But Dean couldn't help but wish, to hope, to dream. To one day just disappear off the face of the planet, clutched tightly in the angel's arms, the tips of silken white wings stroking his face gently.

"Cas."

Dean collapsed on the dirty carpet, his chest heaving. The worst was over, but not for long. He flipped to his side, slowly pulled his knees against his chest, and closed his eyes.

_I need you here, Cas._

_Please._

**END.**


	6. Us and Them

Dean closes his eyes and sighs heavily as a pair of rough hands run along the length of his torso. His breaths grow uneven and the need grows stronger.

He knew what they were doing was wrong, sinful. But he didn't care and neither did Castiel. Castiel. The only one who made this life easier. The only one who came close to understanding him. He growled as the angel bent and captured his mouth in a hungry, urgent kiss.

Heaven was frowning upon them, the world fell apart underneath them. But they just ignored it all. They remained in their own little world, infatuated only with each other and no one else.

Dean trailed a gentle finger down Castiel's toned back.

Rebel angel and uncooperative hunter.

They made quite a team.

Turning their backs on rules and regulations and doing what they thought was right. Dean wished it could stay this way forever, but that wasn't being realistic. All things had to stop eventually, even the world. _Especially _the world would come to an end. So until then Dean held on, clung tightly to the last thing he had left. The only thing that hadn't turned its back on him.

_I love you, Cas._

**END.**


	7. Time

The ticking of the clock was almost deafening. The minutes trudged on slowly, like cinder blocks were tied to their metaphorical legs. Dean slumped lower on the couch, his head pounding along with the time.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Time. It was a relative concept, depending mostly on the observer. Some prayed for it to pass slowly, prayed for their amount to never run out. Others begged for it to speed by, to get them through their dilemmas. Dean just wanted it to disappear. Vanish forever and make life easier to bear.

Time just made living harder, each movement of the hand signaling that another chunk of your life has been wiped away, now a part of the unreachable past.

Dean wished every fucking day he could go back. Back to when monsters were just creations of the mind, when Mom kissed him goodnight, when the end of the world seemed to be centuries away. But time travel could only be accomplished by the angels, and they already made it perfectly clear there was no changing the past, no preventing the imminent future.

Time was irreversible.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

With each second, each minute, each hour that tick-tocked by, the closer the apocalypse got; inch by inch, step by step

Tick

by

Tock.

**END.**


	8. Goodbye Blue Sky

Smoke blocked out the blazing sun. Tortured, terrified, and agonized screams drifted along with the wind, being carried off to spread their desperation. Bombs went off, guns fired, blood shed. Fallen angel warriors littered the ground; hundreds of empty, bleeding bodies once indestructible, now victims of destruction. Limbs, torn clothing, and shrapnel stuck up from the blood and rain soaked dirt, rusted and shining. And Dean stood motionless in the middle of it all, oblivious to his Hell-like surroundings. Deaf to the screams and moans of the injured and dying. His clothes were drenched in blood; some his, some belonging to others. Holes decorated the fabric, strings hanging from the messy tears and rips. Bruises and cuts ran down the length of his arms and legs. He nursed a dislocated shoulder, his grime covered hands cradling the injured limb. All of this, this chaos, this pain, none of it mattered to him.

He dropped mechanically to one knee, revealing a broken, bloodied body lying at his feet.

_Castiel._

The angel's eyes were closed, his brilliant white wings bent and disfigured. His dark chocolate hair was matted to his battered head, soaked with warm, sticky blood. One arm was draped lazily over his stomach, covering a long, harsh, angry-looking gash that ran from the center of his chest to his navel.

"Cas." Dean kneeled close to his broken angel. "Oh God, Cas."

One bright sky blue eye slowly opened, the luminescent shade lack luster.

"Dean," the angel coughed out, red liquid dripping from his lips. Dean couldn't handle this. Couldn't handle the possibility of his angel slipping away right before his eyes, victim of the apocalypse he ultimately started.

"Shh, Cas," he choked out. "Save your energy, buddy."

But Dean knew Cas _had_ no energy; his breaths were ragged, sharp, blood gurgling sickeningly in his chest. The angel gagged, more blood spilling out on his tongue. He spat and looked up hopelessly at Dean.

"This isn't over," he rasped, grasping Dean's free hand. "You have to keep fighting, Dean. You can't let the world end like this."

Dean sobbed quietly, refusing to hold back any longer; he didn't have the strength to stifle his heavy sadness. He looked deep into Castiel's eyes, searching desperately for one small ray of hope in his liquid-blue sky eyes, but all he could see were clouds, dark thick clouds of pain and despair.

"Please Cas, you gotta hold on. I _need_ you."

But Castiel's gaze had frozen, his eyes glazed over. One last puff of air pushed out through his lips, bringing a light trickle of blood with it to stream down his chin.

The hope, the comfort, the eternal sunshine Dean had grown to love, was gone. Thunder boomed in the distance and the ear-piercing screams died down. Dean stood slowly, his face saturated with tears. He tilted his head toward the heavens just as the first few drops came down, mixing subtly with his own. And he wondered if he was ever going to see the sky again.

**END**


End file.
